


The Balancing Act of Being You

by Ohmie



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Brief Mention of Suicide, Dorian's Eyes Are Pretty, Drinking, It's really not that bad, John's just had a rough day, M/M, There's food., but Dorian has perfect timing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1500887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohmie/pseuds/Ohmie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 1.10 "Perception". It all comes down to intent. Maybe what he's got isn't so bad after all, once he accepts the duality of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Balancing Act of Being You

 

It didn’t feel as good. There was only so much anger he could put into a downward swipe of his hand. Only so much satisfaction he could get out of wiping it clear. Wiping it clean. He wished he could do the same to his brain. Maybe his heart, while he was at it. The two organs were playing tug of war with his ability to function. Having a fucking grand time dragging him deeper and deeper into this personal pit the universe had dug for him.

 See, if he didn’t remember, he wouldn’t feel the need to keep digging. But he did remember. He was suffering through _progress_. A slow, devious reveal that was just enough to make him think there was more, but not enough to _do_ anything. It was driving him insane, being on edge like this. Feeling like he was just out of reach, that even just a little more pain, one more visit - one more pill - could bring what was just out of his reach into view.

If that was all it was, maybe he could have dealt with it. Just a job, just a puzzle. Something he could turn off and then on again. Something he could sleep through. Something he could work around. But then there was his damn heart. Pumping guilt into his system, making the drive for answers not just a job but an obsession because it _was his fault_. He couldn’t sleep like this. He couldn’t live until he figured out without a shadow of a doubt that he _hadn’t_ messed up somewhere. Hadn’t told her something hadn’t left something hadn’t missed something hadn’t-

 -his phone buzzed. Someone wanted to talk to him. He ran a hand over his face. Yea, talking to someone else might be a good idea right now.

 “Kennex.” Yes his voice was as straight as usual. No one would know the difference.

 “Hello John.”

 Well, no one human at least. John groaned, playing it up. “Dorian. To what do I owe the displeasure?”

 “Captain Maldonado wanted me to check on you-”

 “-well I’m still kicking. Haven’t crashed anything else, so you can tell her-”

 “-I was worried too.”

  _Yeah. Worried._ Was his first thought. Was he though? Was it real worry? Had Anna’s worry even been real, now that he wondered about it? If it hadn’t, did it matter if Dorian’s was?

 He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, making a mighty effort to will it all away. Or at least, make it stop screaming. Some truth. He needed to be somewhat truthful. The damn toaster could probably tell.

 “I’m just tired, Dorian. Nothin’ to worry about.” He let the ache filter into his voice, wondering for a moment it the DRN was sophisticated enough to recognize emotional manipulation.

 “Hopefully not too tired to eat.”

 He stopped wondering about that, “What?” was all he could offer up. His brain too fried for much else at the moment.

 “Food. Something that you need to survive, man. I was told that if I wanted to help you, I would have to be proactive. So I’m bringing you food.”

 “Wait, what? Who told you that?”

 “Captain Maldonado.”

 “Dorian, I’m a grown ass man! You can’t just act lik-”

 “Detective Valerie also said, it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, since you’re too stubborn to give permission.”

 “-now wait just a moment Dorian you-”

 “-Rudy said you never know when to say thank you.”

 He felt his mouth snap shut, swallowing the words of protest. That hit a bit close to home, adding to the swelling ball of guilt already lodged in his chest. Thank you. Was he that much of a dick that he never said it anymore? Anymore? Had he ever really? Any of the men he had gotten killed? Had he done what he could, really? Could he go and talk to their graves, to their loved ones without laying out how much of it actually was his fault…

 “-ohn?”

 “Y-yeah. Sorry. Tired…” he muttered, setting the phone down in it’s stand. It beeped softly, the light flickering as it switched over to speaker. Dorian’s calming voice filled the air around the desk.

 “Well I’m about ten minutes away from your apartment. I won’t impose for too long, I just want to make sure you eat.”

 “And if I refuse?”

 “I’ll hold you down and force you.”

 Wires crossed and his brain flickered. John shook his head to clear away the images. “Jesus…” he breathed at himself. He really was tired if he was reading innuendo.  “...fine fine. Robomom. What are you bringing?”

 “The only thing you eat when you _do_ eat.”

 Oh thank god. Noodles. Hopefully no little living slugs or anything. Maybe from Renshaw’s...certainly Dorian knew his favorite noodle stand by now. He probably had a chart and a graph and...and hell, a pie graph in his memory banks just devoted to John’s eating habits based on how much he was _supposed_ to be eating. Factoring in age and weight and activity...with little check marks and dates and times and what he ordered and the quantities and more angry marks for when he didn’t-

 “That’s great Dorian.” He tried to keep his tone dry. Uninterested even as his stomach churned itself awake. “I’ll buzz you in when you get here.”

 “You know you could just set the bio lock…”

 “Like hell I’m letting you have a key to my place!”

 There was a chuckle from the DRN. Warm and all too human for John’s tired brain. He could picture the smile, the wide happy smile, soft that reached those blue eyes- he took a huge chunk of his arm between his fingers and _twisted_ -

 “I’ll see you in five, John.”

 “Uh huh.” John reached over and ended the call with a swipe of his finger. The table and his room went darker, quiet. The stretch of the room taking over as he rubbed at his arm. Letting the old thoughts and worries and questions bob to the surface.

John pressed at his temples with his fingers, grumbling as he crossed the kitchen to the liquor shelf that had the capacity to be a cabinet. He needed a drink, just something to dull the edges so he could keep thinking without getting trapped into the same pattern of guilt and wondering and guilt and-

 He downed the first glass of something. Burbany. Thick. It burned enough that the train of thought was derailed. He poured a second before walking back into the living room, leaving the bottle on the counter. This one he sipped at, knowing better than to add ‘drunk’ to Dorian’s list of things to worry John with. Or Maldonado for that matter. Shit.

 He made a quick sweep of the flat, making sure he had removed all traces of his crazy, Sherlockian attempts at making sense of the ambush. He didn’t need Dorian telling everyone about that too. Just when he thought the DRN was better than the MX’s at _reporting_ things -- ‘ _I’ll only report what I feel like reporting_ ’-- he had said that. The back of his mind informed him that probably meant that the bot was just _worried_ and genuine and that crap. But he REALLY disliked that Internal Affairs asshole. It was like the guy _wanted_ to blame him for it. Like it would be _easier_ for the whole department if they would just blame it on him. Blame it on John. Blame it on his _romantic_ nature and his lonely, loner lifestyle. Less paperwork probably...and everyone wondered why he was so... _prickly_.

 He finished the second glass to the echo of those thoughts. Drank to chase off the thought that it would be easier perhaps for him too if it really just was his fault. Would it? Could it be so simple. He’d much rather like the idea of blaming someone else. Of chasing after the real criminal. That was what he did. That was his job. If _he_ was the bad guy, then there were only a few ways that bad guys ended up. John didn’t like any of them. He didn’t know if he’d accept anything less than putting a bullet through his own head if he got to the end and found out that it really was his fault. No one else should have to deal with it. With bringing him in and charging him with negligence and manslaughter. Incompetence and romantic delusion.

 He found himself in front of the bottle and poured another drink. He hated the idea, but maybe it was for the best that Dorian was coming over. He’d never say it, obviously, but he hated it less than what he was doing with his night. That was for damn sure.

 He was a mess. Enough mess for three people stuffed into one tired, guilt ridden frame of an empty stomach-

 The door beeped.

John couldn’t help the smile that crept over his face.

 Timing. He laughed to himself as he let his partner in. Could you program timing like that? He didn’t think so.

 “Hey man.” Dorian greeted with a brilliant smile, holding out the bag of food. The smell wafted into his nose like he was in some cartoon. Beckoning.

 “That smells amazing.” He said, giving the empty glass to the DRN so he could hold the warm take-out in both hands. The blue disco lights on the side of Dorian’s face danced as he ran a finger along the bottom of the glass.

 “You shouldn’t be drinking while you’re taking those pills. Causes a whole laundry list of complications.”

 John waved a hand at him, shooing off his concerns. “Yeah yea. Doctor’s just tell you that crap so they can’t get sued.” He plopped down at his table and dug in with gusto. He knew Dorian didn’t eat, but he pushed out the neighboring chair with his foot and motioned with empty chopsticks for the bot to sit. “So how’s Rudy’s? You learn anythin’?”

 “Rudy is always happy to share his passions with others.” Dorian answered, perhaps with a edge of tact as he sat down. He rolled the cup between his hands. “I don’t think he gets to talk much.”

 “And you listen?”

 “Why not? You never know when it might come in handy. Like, when my completely unqualified partner has to fix my head again.”

 John shook a few noodles at him before shoving them in his mouth. “Hey it worked out alright.” He scoffed after swallowing another mouthful (see, he could be polite). “Who needs to be an expert, anyway. Maybe you need to relearn your colors. Magenta. What man in his right mind knows the difference between magenta and lavender.” He ignored the fact that now, now he definitely knew. “Just as long as you don’t run out of space up there.”

 “I assure you my memory is much better than yours.”

 If John chewed more aggressively after that, Dorian noticed right away.

 “Sorry man.”

 God, there was so much bare sincerity in his voice it made John’s throat want to close up. Programmed. Theatrics. Lying. There was a line there somewhere, between what Dorian knew and what Anna knew. Between a colloquial program and manipulation. Intent. It all had to come down to intent, he tried to remind himself around the rock in his stomach.

 “Everybody puts their foot in their mouth from time to time.” He didn’t look up though, focused on eating. Didn’t want to meet those eyes. “...some of us more than others.”

 “John…”

  _Nope_. “Thanks for the food Dee.” He meant the relatively new nickname as a label of sincerity rather than throwing the bot off the subject. Both seemed to work.

 “You’re welcome John.”

 “You’re bein’ awfully nice...you didn’t lace it with sleeping pills or anything did you?” It was more of a playful accusation than a real dig at the man- bot - but Dorian frowned just the same.

 “I wouldn’t do that to you.” A beat. “...even if I did, it wouldn’t matter.” He motioned at the near empty carton with graceful fingers. John glared. “You’d be asleep already with that appetite.” The smirk on Dorian’s lips did things to John, it really did. On anyone else it would be challenging not to imagine it appearing in other, more private circumstances. On Dorian it was impossible.

 It was so hard not to equate the past with the present. The moral high ground of questioning the validity of Dorian’s ability to feel and express emotion chipped away by the falseness he had already witnessed. The lying everyone did every day. The giant lie he had believed in already.

 “Dorian, are you capable of manipulating people?”

 The question shocked them both equally, John almost losing his grip on his chopsticks. He couldn’t un-ask it.  But he could blow it off.

 “Sorry. Sorry, that was...you must’ve been right about mixing drugs and drink.” He tried to go back to eating.

 “...you asked for a reason, John.”

 “Hey. That was a shitty question. You don’t need to answer it, no one should, I mean, just forget i asked alright. Drop it.”

 “Is this about guilting you into donating that one time?”

 John laughed, gruff and amused. Fond, even. “Yeah. Sure. What was that, programming?”

 “I was just messing with you, man. It’s fun.” Dorian leaned over the table a little, bringing his face closer. Intimate space. Where people told the truth to each other. Vulnerable. John twitched and pulled back, taking what was left of his carton with him. Dorian frowned, but sat back. “I wouldn’t hurt you John.”

 “Goes against your programming, huh?” He slumped in his chair, scraping the last three noodles from the corners. “Suppose that’s a good thing…” but he was glum about it, and uncertain why.

 “Even if I could John, I wouldn’t _want_ to.”

 “You say that now. I’m pretty annoying you know.”

 “Yea, I know.” And there was fondness there too, returned with warmth and something that made John’s throat dry up in increments. _Are you a romantic, John?_ He practically threw the chopsticks into the bottom of the container.

 “Luckily you have unnatural patience.” John grouched, putting the empty take out aside. He didn’t dare reach for a fortune cookie. No way. Not today. Maybe not ever again.

 “Oh you’ve come close to the end of my patience, John. I wouldn’t sell yourself short.”

 That got a smile out of him, Dorian’s face blooming in response. John hated it in the same millisecond that he loved it. Wanted more even as he demanded that it stop. _Do you believe in coincidence?_

 Of course he had checked. Of course he had questioned the good fate that led a woman like her into his life. He had looked and looked until he hated himself a hundred times more. He had poked and prodded until even someone like John had to admit that maybe the universe was just throwing him a bone finally for all the crap it had dealt him. He had forced himself to stop looking and just be happy for once.

 That it backfired so totally was horrific. That they thought it was his fault?

 “John…?”

 It was a soft question, bringing him back from the brink of that hard lump lodged in his airway. He blinked and sat upright, rubbing a hand over his chin.

 “That ethics guy can fuck off.” He snarled. “I didn’t wanna talk until I had something to talk about that wasn’t just...” _I can’t deal with it when they blame me. When the system I’ve bled and killed for wants to cut me loose. What else would I do? What else could I be, at this point?_

 “Did you find anything?”

 John grunted, caught. Dorian was his partner. Had Dorian been -- well, no. Had it been anyone else John would have stopped to think too. Anyone new. But they had been tested, by this point. Shot at. Blown up. Dorian had scaled a building for him, so…

 “...can you keep it between us for now?” There was no other way to do it. No other way to ask than with bare sincerity. He wanted to trust Dorian. Trust in him. He knew that Dorian wanted to be trusted in, just as badly. Programming versus will. Partnership.

 “Of course.”

 “Promise.”

 “I swear, John.”

 “Good, cause I know where you sleep.” He meant ‘charge’. He probably should have said ‘charge’. But… he took a deep breath. “There was a listening device in my apartment. Still. Just found it the other day, had someone look at it off the books.”

 “Have you traced it?”

 “No. Literally, just found out about it tonight. It was…” He swallowed. “...it was a gift. From Anna. I hadn’t remembered before about it.”

 Dorian scooted closer. Judging the look on the bot’s face, John was glad his hands were under the table, on his knees and not on the table.

 “ _John_ …”

 Yeah. John leaned back. Putting himself out of reach because it really, really looked and read like Dorian was going to put his hand somewhere programming said was a comfort.

 “Look, I don’t need fucking pity, okay?” He snapped instead, just barely being able to hold those blue eyes with his own. “I need to know if I screwed up. And if I didn’t, I need someone to hunt down an’ toss in the cubes for the rest of their lives. This?” His hand relinquished it’s clench on his knee to make a sweeping gesture at Dorian’s face. “...not helping. At all. Ok?”

 “Okay John. Okay.” To his credit, Dorian managed to sound actually sorry. Anyone else probably would have come off consolatory. Codling. Like John was in danger of flying apart.

 It helped him breathe. “Alright. Good.” He pulled his eyes away, going for more take-out before realizing there wasn’t any left. “Glad that’s settled.” He masked it, grabbing for the glass by Dorian’s elbow instead.

 He expected Dorian to snag it from him, but his partner didn’t make a move to take it, instead asking, “What’s your next step?”

 “Trace it, I suppose. Was going to...well, I was going to ask Rudy.”

 "Off the books?”

 “Off the books.” He didn’t get up to fill the glass, just wanted something in his hands. Something safe. He rolled the cool glass between his fingers.

 “...want me to fill that?”

 John blinked. “Thought you said it was a bad idea? What gives?” He handed it over though.

 Dorian smiled, “You’re still within safe levels. You’re not a child, man.” He pushed off the table and went to the bottle still sitting on the counter. “Not that I wouldn’t stop you.”

 “Hey. Cups are in the cabinet on your right. Grab a glass.”

 “John. I appreciate the gesture but-”

 “You can’t get drunk, I know I know. Humor me, ok? It’s more than just that. It’s...it’s a thing friends and comrades do.” He waved his hand, “Jus’ bring it over here cause it’s always weird when you watch me do human things with those big, blue eyes of yours. I swear. Did they _intentionally_ make them the perfect size to imitate puppies? They’re like mirrors.” He hadn’t meant to say that last part.

 “There’s an algorithm based on size and luminosity.” Dorian joked, and John wondered how long it had taken to get the eyes right. He remembered what they had looked like when Rudy had first unwrapped him. Dead and lifeless, what John had expected synthetic eyes to look like...and then the lights had literally snapped on and they were more than just….things. There was a depth and a life to them he couldn’t ignore. They were built for that. Made to look human. Made to make John sympathize with them.

 It all kept coming around though. Because what was so wrong with that when humans used the same tools to keep their in-humanity a secret. To hide lies behind.

 “John-”

 “-hey Dorian-”

 They both stopped, and John took his cup from the bot’s hand.

 “What’s on your mind, John?” Dorian asked, sitting back down.

  _Who else do you have to tell this too?_ His mind asked before his thoughts could arrange themselves. “No way. I need more drink in me before I do that.”

 “Why John? I’m not going to judge you.”

 "You do all the time!” He spluttered.

 “But not over something like this. That’s not…” and Dorian swallowed. Not needing to, but knowing what it signified. “...that’s not what friends do.”

 There was a hope there. A hope afraid it was overstepping and John laughed warmly to ease it, “Must have really hit rock bottom to have someone like you as my best friend. Can’t even get drunk with me.” But he smiled, because...well, really Dorian was what John had. And it wasn’t a bad thing. Not by a long shot.

 Dorian didn’t quite return the sentiment. “Sorry.” He muttered instead, looking down at the booze going to waste in his cup.

 “Hey. Hey, come on.” John sat forward a bit, trying to catch his eyes. “That’s not...hey look Dorian. I like that you’re a DRN, okay? You shouldn’t feel bad about being ‘almost’ human, ok? For one, you’re totally bad ass. You’ve saved lives because you’re smarter than I am...hell, you’re integral to how the system runs these days, and before you jump in bringin’ up those damn MX’s lemme tell you something you stupid toaster…” the finger he jabbed between wide blue eyes hit synthetic skin and made John’s finger itch. It wasn’t allowed to waiver, this foundation to his point, not even the smallest inch that Dorian would be able to calculate.

 “...you’re better than they are. Partners are supposed to build off each other’s strengths and weaknesses and you’re a better human than I am.” He continued to roll right past that admission, watching Dorian’t lips part to speak and beating him to it. “You climbed up the side of a friggin’ _building_ to catch a perp, okay? You climbed up there on a low charge to save me, and you wouldn’t have done that if you were an MX...and you might have wanted to if you were human but you never would have managed it. So…” _Rudy says you never say thank you_ \- he swallowed and forced himself to keep eye contact with the light behind the parts that John knew was Dorian and nothing else, “...so, you know...if you had been human I’d be dead and if you were an MX I’d be dead too so, thanks Dorian. Thanks for being you.”

The feeling of embarrassment seeped in even over the soft, thankful smile that Dorian wore, the surprise on the bot’s face dieing down into sheepish awe. John downed the last of his drink, eyes drifting away to points vague and beyond and not looking back.

“Don’t get me wrong! I’m still going to make jokes about you being a bot...and, I’m still going to ask for your opinion like you’re human. You should like you. Cause...well, I do.”

“You’re not that terrible of a human, John.” Dorian said after the stretch of long moments, voice sincere and soft.

“Sure I am, cause I’m never saying that again.”

“That’s okay. I’ve saved it to my memory banks.”

John’s over-dramatic groan merged with Dorian’s laughter and heat pooled in his gut as the drink settled. This was good. This was...this was all he needed right now. Right at this moment. It didn’t matter what Dorian was or wasn’t or by whose standards he was this or that because for John he was friend, and partner. He was a good man, and a good bot. The perfect partner for him. Just as prone to betrayal and worthy of trust as any flesh and blood equivalent and four times as tough to kill. Comfort and fear, and all those legal layers to Dorian’s existence hovered just out of where he wanted to reach because this moment was so perfect and needed that he didn’t blame himself for keeping it close to the vest instead of over-thinking it.

The tail end of Dorian’s fond laughter dragged into his name, and John looked away from the night pressing against the windows to the DRN’s face.

“...thanks for being you.”

John snorted, but it was hollow and ruined by the quirk of a smile at the corners of his lips. “Yea sure.” He muttered, reaching for the bottle and another half glass.

 

 

 


End file.
